


Conveying the Prince

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: Summer Days Prompts [23]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: Little Prince AU.Now Dreadwing has taken the Prince from the Autobots, he needs to bring him to Lord Megatron in one piece.





	Conveying the Prince

**Author's Note:**

> The immediate sequel to 'Kidnapping the Prince'.

"You said you wouldn't hurt Hot Rod," Smokescreen accused, small doorwings held stiffly as he glared at Dreadwing. The blue flyer paused in his conversation with a crab-like mechanism -- Smokescreen hesitated to call it a mech -- who was apparently called 'Scalpel' and looked at him with a raised optic ridge.

"And I didn't, my Prince; your young friend is unharmed, is he not?" From the medical berth where he was sitting, Skyquake's hands on his shoulders to keep him still, Hot Rod glared daggers.

“Define ‘unharmed’,” he growled. “You were supposed to let me go!”

“Ah, but we never said we’d release you, did we?” Skyquake rumbled, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Very true, brother,” Dreadwing nodded. “And I doubt you would be so amenable and swift to comply with our demands if your young friend wasn’t here, young Prince.”

Smokescreen had to concede it was true, though he only bit his lips and refused to acknowledge it out loud. If Hot Rod hadn’t been there, he’d have tried to escape already. Sure, it would be pointless – a big ship full of Decepticons against small, unharmed him? Smokescreen wasn’t the brightest Youngling in his age group but he wasn’t THAT bad at maths.

“You tricked him!” Hot Rod accused. The Decepticons just chuckled or smiled. Duh; Decepticons, Smokescreen thought as he exchanged a look with his friend. If there was a silver lining to this whole situation, it was that Hot Rod’s injuries had been seen to. That, and the Decepticons had left Haven without shooting anyone else. But, oh, how Smokescreen’s vocalizer ached from his desperate cries for Kup – and Hot Rod’s had been shriller even.

Scalpel had just pronounced him physically fine, bar the scuffed paintjob that had resulted from his attempts at escaping Skyquake's hold and didn't warrant a second glance. The wound on his helm had been closed up and a nanite patch applied on it to accelerate the disappearance of the weld mark and the energon wiped away, leaving his face clean. Smokescreen wished nothing more than to run at him and hug him in both comfort and reassurance – for them both.

He was loath to show it, but Smokescreen was actually terrified. He wasn’t shaking, but he was certain the stiffness of his doorwings or their rare, erratic fluttering betrayed him. Dreadwing hadn’t commented, but Smokescreen knew he was watching him, analyzing him. And Hot Rod was terrified too, Smokescreen knew it; but where Smokescreen had opted for quiet, Hot Rod had chosen aggression and kicks.

At least it was just them both, he tried to console himself. He didn’t want to think of what he would have done if they had managed to catch Moonracer, or Strongarm, or any of the others as well.

Smokescreen hugged himself, trying to drown out the panic born from those ‘what if?’. “What is going to happen to us, now?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Now, young Prince, we will be going back to your Sire. Lord Megatron longs to have you by his side and is eager to see you in good health.”

Smokescreen had a pale, joyless smile. “Does he? Funny way he has to show it, sending his goons to kidnap me.”

Dreadwing and Skyquake’s wings twitched in unhappiness at being called ‘goons’. The crab-like doctor didn’t bother reacting, too busy tinkering with the commands of a row of pods that Hot Rod kept eyeing warily.

“You should show greater respect toward your Sire, Youngling,” the green flyer groused. “But given who has been raising you, I suppose it was inevitable.”

Smokescreen gave him a look. “Carrier didn’t raise me to hate my Sire, if that’s what you’re implying,” he snapped.

“Optimus Prime himself, probably not,” Dreadwing acknowledged. As much as the flyer hated the Prime for keeping Megatron’s Creation away from him, he also had to acknowledge the Prime had been a good Creator as far as Intel could tell them. He had never lied to the Youngling about the identity of his Sire, for one, nor about the potential implications. “But many among your caretakers and playmates didn’t share his neutrality over your upbringing.”

“Megatron killed many of my friends’ own Creators,” Smokescreen said flatly. “I think that’s enough for me to feel hostile toward him.” Hot Rod’s Creators hadn’t been among those, thankfully; they had died from a banal shuttle crash. Not that it changed anything; without the war, they probably wouldn’t have been on that ship in the first place.

“This is a war, Youngling,” Dreadwing looked at him with a flat expression. “Lives are lost every day, as dramatic as it is.”

“And speaking of drama, if you lot have finished chit-chatting like a bunch of Sparklings?” the diminutive medic called over. “The pods are ready. Just put them in so I can activate the stasis field.”

Smokescreen jerked back; under Skyquake’s hands, Hot Rod tensed. “NO!” Smokescreen shouted, backing up until he was hitting the wall as Dreadwing approached him.

“Please, my Prince, don’t make it harder on yourself,” he advised in that damn reasonable voice of him.

“Not stasis,” Smokescreen shook his head, eyes darting to the side, searching for an opening to throw himself through.

“It is a necessity,” Dreadwing stated. “You won’t feel anything, I promise.” He reached for Smokescreen, only for the Youngling to flinch. “It is for your own safety,” he said again. “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt by accident, after all – nor your friend,” he nodded toward Hot Rod, who was cursing and trying his best to pry Skyquake’s fingers off him, to no avail.

“Is that a threat?”

“Not at all,” Dreadwing promised. Causing physical harm to Lord Megatron’s Creation was the latest thing on his CPU (he couldn’t speak of mental harm, however, for he had just ripped the Youngling away from everything he knew and loved; it couldn’t be helped, however). His main concerns were more along the lines of preventing both Younglings from injuring themselves during a misguided attempt at escaping. True, they were docile right now, but that wouldn’t last forever. Besides, if the ship came under attack (an unlikely possibility given all the precautions they had taken, but still one he accounted for), he preferred to know both of them were in the safety of the pods, which were fortified to resist to explosions if they had to. “It is merely a concern. Come,” he said, holding out his hand for the Youngling to take.

Smokescreen didn’t move. A moment of tense silence passed before a loud venting went through. “Smokey, it’s alright.” Smokescreen and Dreadwing looked up at Hot Rod. The flame-painted Youngling had stopped struggling and was looking at his hands in defeat. “They’ll drag us there if we don’t comply, right? That… wouldn’t help at all. I… can’t you put us in the same pod at last?”

Dreadwing hummed. The idea was tempting, since it would calm down the Prince, but… “Those pods aren’t programmed to hold more than one person. However, you may be allowed to lie next to each other.” It was the most he would offer them, and they both seemed to realize it, give the grim look they shared.

There was little fuss after that. Smokescreen dragged his feet as he walked and climbed inside the reclined pod with a heavy Spark. He let himself be checked over as he lied down quietly and almost didn’t flinch when Scalped snapped restraints around his ankles, waist and wrists.

“Are those things really necessary?” Hot Rod asked next to him as he was given the same treatment.

“Those are adult-sized pods,” the medic shrugged – well, Smokescreen supposed it was a shrug; with Scalpel’s body configuration it was hard to say. “Without the restraints, you’d be jostled around the moment they move.”

Smokescreen and Hot Rod kept looking at each other, murmuring vague reassurances as the transparent domes were lowered and locked and as they started to feel the temperature drop and a pressurized gaz get poured in; they looked at each other until the glass became dark with smoke and they felt their optics turn off as their systems initiated the stasis.

And so they travelled through the stars, deep asleep and faces turned toward each other, an almost angelic picture quietly watched over by a pair of winged twins who took guard turn to make sure nothing was going to happen to their precious cargo…


End file.
